


Love is the Most Important Thing in the World (But Baseball is Pretty Good, Too)

by Kellyscams



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Baseball, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Sports, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Language, Friends to Enemies, Hand Jobs, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Misunderstandings, Old Friends, Oral Sex, Rivalry, minor injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-25 07:28:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16192916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kellyscams/pseuds/Kellyscams
Summary: Once upon a time ago, Steve Rogers was inseparable from his best friend and teammate James "Bucky" Barnes. All of that changed one eventful night near the end of their high school career when Steve kissed Bucky.Tonight, Steve must face Bucky in what just might be the turning point in his minor league career. Bucky's no doubt going to get his call up to the Majors. But if Steve can't face this one batter that's haunted him since high school... he might never catch his break.Does Steve have what it takes to strike his rival out? Or will he only ever see Bucky Barnes, the boy he's loved since high school, sixty-feet away from him?





	Love is the Most Important Thing in the World (But Baseball is Pretty Good, Too)

**Author's Note:**

> Title courtesy of the great Yogi Berra who always had the most wonderful things to say :D

Steve takes his cap off and wipes the sweat from his brow with the back of his arm. He takes in a deep breath before reaching down for the rosin bag. This is one of the most important moments of his life. Bottom of the ninth. Two out. Runner on first. They’re up by a run. If Steve gets the win, there’s no way, just _no_ way he won’t be called up to the Majors. Steve can’t let sweaty palms ruin it. 

Besides, if he doesn’t get this out, he’ll have to face The Hydra’s clean up hitter. Given how he’s given up four hits to him tonight alone, Steve would very much prefer not to face him at such a win or lose moment of the game. Not to mention they’re _both_ up for the MVP award. The rivalry couldn’t be more obvious if they tried. 

Over at home, the batter lines himself up, ready for Steve’s pitch. Behind the plate, Sam holds his glove out and gives Steve the sign for a fastball. He nods and gets in position. Checks the runner on first. Winds up. Fires the pitch right down the middle for strike one. From behind him, Steve can hear his teammates cheer him on. 

_You got this, Steve_ , they say. _Two more strikes, Cap._ Sam throws a fresh ball back to him, and Steve readies for another pitch as the crowd does the wave in the stands. With the count already oh and one, Sam asks for another fastball, but Steve shakes his head. Sam knows him well enough to know what he wants next and signals for a changeup that fakes the batter for strike two on the outside corner. 

The runner at first takes a bigger lead, and before Steve throws his next pitch, he tries to pick him off. The ball lands square in T’Challa’s mit and he sweeps it down to make the tag, but Rumlow slides in just in time to be called safe. When he rises, he stands chest to chest with T’Challa, as if challenging them to try it again. T’Challa doesn’t back down until the ump calls to play ball. 

Count oh and two now, Steve looks to Sam for the call. Another fastball. They’ve been serving him well tonight, at an average of 92 miles per hour. Steve takes the mound. Here’s the pitch. 

“Shit,” Steve mumbles when that one’s called a ball. Even he has to admit it was a bit outside. “It’s okay. That’s just one. Shake it off, Rogers.” 

Only the next curveball he throws is inside for ball two, making the count two and two. Steve’s stomach flips. He knows how easily this can change. They’re only up by a run and The Hyrdas have home field advantage. The Shields had their last shot. If The Hydras knock in two more runs, they win, and everyone here will watch Steve lose the game. 

Without thinking, Steve glances over at the batter on deck. It’s the last thing he should do. The last thing he _wants_ to do. His heart sinks and his stomach folds when they catch eyes. The batter sneers just before Steve twirls back around to hold his glove out for the ball. 

Instead of tossing it back to him this time, Sam jogs over to the mound.

“You look a little shook,” he says, softly. “You good?”

“I’m fine,” Steve tells him, though he’s sure the entire stadium can hear the thunder of his heart. “I got this.” 

“Yeah, you do.” Sam claps his shoulder. “High fastball. He’ll clip it up to first base. Easy out.” 

Steve nods while Sam signals to Coach Fury of their intentions, who in turn signals back so the rest of the team knows the play. When the home plate umpire approaches the mound, Sam trots back down and gives Steve his signature two-fingered salute before crouching down in position again. 

Eyes sliding back to the batter on deck for some reason, Steve swallows down his nerves and focuses. Or tries to focus. 

“What the fuck, Steve,” he mumbles. “Get a grip. Strike the fucker out.” 

He gets into his stance and grips the ball. High fastball. Steve takes in a deep breath and fires. And knows immediately that he fucked up. It doesn’t go high. The batter swings and makes contact. Hard.

The ball goes right up the first base line fast enough that it gets past T’Challa while Rumlow makes a sprint for second. Even though Steve’s stomach has sunk to his feet at his fucking blunder, he’s charging forward to cover the plate. As the batter makes it to first base, out in right field, Clint scoops up the ball and fires across the diamond towards Pietro at third just as Rumlow slides head first. 

When the word _safe_ rings throughout the field, Steve could just drop to his knees and cry. Even with Pietro arguing that he made the tag, that there’s no way Rumlow was safe, it’ll do no good. 

Everyone in the stands is going wild, even for a Triple-A Championship. Steve knows. They’re not there for him. They’re not even there for the Shields or even really for the Hydras on the whole. They’re here for the next batter. The cleanup hitter. 

Steve’s worst nightmare as he’s called up and announced to the plate. 

“Batting next for the Hydras, number 4, James “Bucky” Barnes.”

There’s no way Steve can watch Bucky walk up to the plate. He can’t see that smug look on his face telling Steve he knows he’s gonna get this hit. That there’s no way Steve can strike him out. Steve never could. 

Not even when they were kids playing stickball in the back alleys of Brooklyn. But then, Steve rarely had to _try_ to strike him out. It wasn’t often they played on opposite teams. Everyone knew that Bucky and Steve came as a pair. 

Even when they joined little league together, they made enough of a fuss to end up on the same team. After a few practices, coaches didn’t really care. They _made_ the perfect team. From back alleys to little league fields to All-Star Championships… 

...and then they weren’t. 

Not after Steve made the mistake of kissing Bucky near the end of their senior year of high school. 

Everything changed after that. Bucky didn’t talk to him for three days, and then when he did, it wasn’t like it had been. He was guarded. Tense. And, already feeling so mortified and rejected, Steve refused to talk about what happened at all whenever Bucky tried to bring it up to him. 

They were no longer a team after that, and every time Steve’s faced Bucky, he’s lost. Whether literally or metaphorically, Steve has lost. 

Now he has to face him again in one of the biggest moments of his life. One that can affect his entire professional career. 

It isn’t any wonder that he’s joined at the mound by not only Sam, but T’Challa, Rhodey from second, and also Coach Fury who holds his hand out for the ball. Steve gives it to him without question. 

“How’s it going, kid?” he asks.

“I’m fine, skip,” Steve answers when it’s the furthest from the truth. “I’m good.”

“You’ve done well,” T’Challa says. “Pitched the whole game.”

“No shame in letting someone try to get the last batter out,” Rhodey remarks. “They’ve gone through three pitchers.”

“I said I’m fine,” Steve repeats. “I swear.”

“We got Thor all ready to go,” Fury says. “Given your track record with Barnes--”

“I can _do_ it, skip,” Steve insists. “Don’t take me out. Lemme finish this game. I _have_ to finish this game.”

Hand passing over his mouth, Fury gives a look around the field and turns the ball over in his hands. He looks at Sam.

“What do you think?”

Shit. If Sam doesn’t think he’s up for it, he’s not gonna hold back his opinion. Sam’ll tell Fury whether or not he thinks he can really get Bucky out. The past has proven no, but maybe Sam has faith in him. 

“Give ‘im his chance, skip,” Sam says, much to Steve’s delight. “He can do it.” 

Fury nods then and drops the ball right back in Steve’s glove. “Give ‘im hell then, Rogers.” 

Steve gets pats on his back and swats on his ass and several encouraging remarks. They’ve probably just managed to fall shy of having a too long meeting and everyone goes back to their positions as Bucky gets into the box. Still with that _look_ all over his face. 

They can go for the intentional walk, but, no. No, Steve won’t let him win that easily. 

Bucky crowds the plate more than usual. Shimmies his feet a little in the dirt and swings his left arm forward. Fuck, the ladies are gonna love him. Guys, too. Steve shakes his head. 

Focus, Rogers.

Behind the plate, Sam asks for a curveball. Steve licks his lips and nods. Straightens. Breathes in a deep breath while looking past anything anyone there can see. To days when he and Bucky would play together until they couldn’t even see the ball anymore. He turns to face Bucky now. Winds and throws the pitch. A perfect curve that Bucky gets a piece of with one perfect swing. 

Steve swirls around to watch it fly high towards right field, his pulse beating so hard it’s all he can hear. Bucky’s already heading towards first while Rumlow takes off towards home. 

But as the ball goes farther and farther, it bears more and more to the right, sailing just into foul territory. 

“Foul ball!” the umpire calls. 

Strike one then. Okay, Steve’ll take it. It’s better than the home run he was sure Bucky’d just hit off of him. As his nerves begin to bubble, he looks to Sam. Gets a reassuring nod as he throws him a fresh ball. Once he has it, he knows the pitch he wants to throw. And this time, he and Sam are on the same page. A slider. 

Bucky watches it and smiles as it’s called as ball one, much to Steve’s shock. 

“What the fuck are you lookin’ at?” Steve shouts. “That was right down the middle!” 

Getting a warning look, Steve grinds his teeth and kicks the dirt on the mound. He shakes his head and knocks out the idea of fucking this all up. It’s just Bucky sixty feet from him, grinding his hands around the wooden handle of his bat and once again crowding the plate. 

This time, when Sam asks for a fastball, Steve doesn’t even think about it. He does it on purpose, that much he knows, but he does it before thinking. The fastest ball of the game thrown so inside that Bucky needs to drop into the dirt in order to avoid getting hit.

“Watch it, Rogers!” the umpire warns.

In the Hydras’s dugout, the rest of the team lurches towards the railing to swear and curse at him. In his own dugout, his team excuses it as an accident while Fury shoots him a discreet warning look. That little stunt just gave him strike two. 

Bucky, on the other hand, rises back to his feet with a familiar smirk on his face. He doesn’t wipe the dirt off. Doesn’t take his eyes off of Steve. He’s the one who taught Steve to do that anyway. 

He cracks his neck and rolls out his shoulders. Takes his stance again, this time not crowding the plate _as_ much. Bucky’s gaze narrows in on Steve as if to say, _okay, that’s how you wanna play it?_

The answer is yes. After all these years of unanswered questions. Of unresolved tension and unspoken feelings. The answer is yes. 

Just so Bucky understands, Steve gives him a curt nod and then focuses on the game. 

Sam pulls his mask back on now that he sees Steve is ready and crouches. Asks for another changeup. Perfect. Steve gets ready, rolling the ball between his fingers to get right grip. Slow breaths. A bead of sweat rolls down the side of his face. Steve aims and throws. 

Once again Bucky doesn’t swing and takes ball two. The count’s two and two. They’re both still very much in this game. Even when Steve throws another fastball that Bucky takes to make the count full. 

A full count. One more ball and Bucky’ll take his base for the bases to be loaded. One more strike and he’ll be out. 

Steve pulls his cap off again, nerves building and shaking through his arms. He turns away from home plate. He can’t look at Bucky right now. All that happens when he looks at him are the memories that play over and over. Of running up and down their home streets, of stuffing their face with ice cream until they were ready to burst, of Bucky dragging Steve onto the Cyclone. 

Tonight it ends. One way or another, it’s going to end. Steve is going to put a stop to this. Cut the tension with this last pitch. He’s through skirting around the past while Bucky dances on toward the future without even giving two shits about him anymore. 

Turning back around, Steve takes in a deep breath, calming breath. He knows which pitch he needs to throw. He’s perfected it as best he can, and it’s the one pitch he knows Bucky has trouble hitting, but it’s still hard to execute. It takes Sam five tries to figure out what Steve is planning, and when he does, he holds his hand up to the umpire before getting to his feet to jog over to the mound.

“Are you kidding?” he asks when he gets there. “That’s not even close to your strongest pitch.”

Steve nods. “I know. But it’s the only one I know he has trouble with. It’s my best shot.” 

Sighing, Sam shrugs and claps Steve’s shoulder in trust that he knows what he’s doing. He trots back over to behind the plate where Bucky, instead of taking any practice swings, is simply standing as though he’s getting impatient. His eyebrows lift -- a look Steve knows. He’s trying to psych him out, just like he used to do to other pitchers when they played on the same team. The old _let’s hurry this up, I gotta get through with this and do something more important_ ploy. Unfortunately, it’s working.

Once Sam is ready, and Bucky has taken his stance, Steve gets the ball ready for the one pitch that just might strike Bucky out. A knuckleball. 

Steve holds his breath once again. He closes his eyes and tries to focus on the deed at hand. Just one throw and this can all be over with. He opens his eyes. Everything disappears around him. All the noise. The crowds. His teammates. The MVP award. A call up to the Majors. The world once again becomes just Steve and Bucky. 

_Tunnel vision, Stevie. Just me an’ you, pal. Put it right in my glove and no one’ll ever get a hit off’a ya._

Steve lets out his breath, a burst of frosty September air curling around in front of him. In the silence and emptiness around him, Steve winds up and fires his very last pitch. It’s hard. It’s fast. It’s erratic the way a knuckleball should be. 

It only takes an instant to get there, but for Steve, so much longer.

It reaches Bucky.

Bucky swings… 

~~~

The hallway smells like champagne. Not all the unusual since it’s late and most of the team has been partying. Drinks spraying everywhere as they celebrate. More drinks pouring. The scent of it hits Bucky before he even stepped off the elevator. 

His heart drums faster than it did out on the field. He hasn’t been this nervous in years. Probably since high school. When he last tried to do this. 

He’d never meant to hurt Steve. That had all been a complete fiasco when they were younger. But after that shared kiss, Bucky panicked. He never thought Steve would have felt the same way he did. For Bucky, Steve was a rock. His moon and stars. His sun. The idea of doing anything to jeopardize that terrified Bucky. Even if that meant having to keep his feelings for his best friend buried in a chest hidden away in his heart forever. 

When Bucky reaches the room, he almost chickens out and goes back to his own. Maybe tonight’s not the best time to do this. After such a game. Steve might not exactly be up for talking. For all Bucky knows, he’s gotten himself good and drunk. 

Bucky loosens his tie. He’s surprised he’s not shit-faced somewhere himself. Instead of being a total chicken shit, Bucky lifts his hand, ignores the trembling, and knocks. Twice. 

There’s movement inside the room. Shit, what if Steve has company and Bucky’s interrupting. Maybe Bucky didn’t think this through at all. He looks down either end of the hallway. He knows he’s damn fast. He could make it around the corner before someone gets to the door if he booked it now. He doesn’t go anywhere though. Bucky just stands there as the door opens and he’s face-to-face with Steve. Who was in the middle of putting a shirt back on but froze the second he saw who knocked on his door. 

“Uh…” Bucky waves his fingers. “Hey… Steve.” 

Face going hard, Steve finishes putting his shirt on and sighs. He looks back into his room. From what Bucky can see, there’s no one else in there. 

“Did you come here to gloat, Barnes?” Steve asks. 

“What?” Bucky almost laughs. “What’re you talking about? You struck me out.” 

“Yeah.” Steve crosses his arms. “And up until a few seconds ago, I was celebrating that. But the only reason you’d be here is to tell me you _let_ me strike you out.” 

Jaw dropping, Bucky’s eyes go wide. If there was one thing he taught Steve as a kid, it was that he’d _never_ go easy on him. Years of not talking haven’t changed that.

“Seriously?” Bucky questions, laying the sarcasm on as thick as possible. “I may be an asshole, but I’m not a dick, Steve. If you ever thought I’d _let_ you win, you _never_ knew anything about me.” 

“Then what the hell are you doing here, Barnes? Because you’ve spent the past six years _fucking_ with my head.” 

Bucky gets a small laugh past his lips. Half-serious, half self-deprecating. He sort of shrugs, trying to get Steve to understand. 

“Well… _yeah_?” He nibbles on his lip. “I mean, I knew it would work.” 

Steve rolls his eyes. “Nice. Not once all this time, you couldn’t’ve come talk to me, though.”

“You never came to talk to _me_ either!” 

All that gets Bucky is a red-faced Steve clenching his jaw and if there’s one thing Bucky knows about Steve’s jaw it’s that even when he’s _not_ pissed off, it’s enough to cut through glass. Right now, Bucky’s pretty sure that it’s hard as a diamond. 

Steve huffs and turns to go back into his room without another word to Bucky. That has Bucky loosening up. He came here to _talk_ to Steve. Maybe make up with him. Rekindle things, if possible. 

“No, wait!” he cries. “Steve!”

Without thinking, Bucky grabs the doorframe just as Steve goes to slam the door behind him. Everything happens so fast. The door bounces off of Bucky’s fingers. Bucky registers this before the pain. The pain comes on so suddenly that he drops to his knees and can barely get a sound up his throat. Whatever _does_ come out of his mouth is gargled and whimpered at best. 

“Bucky!” Steve is at his side before he even hits the floor. “What the fuck did you do that for?”

At first, all Bucky can do is start at Steve. He still can’t bring himself to answer. Steve is a pitcher after all. For all he knows, he just slammed the door at a hundred miles per hour. That’s an exaggeration, he’s sure, but it sure as hell felt like it. 

Then, Bucky realizes that there’re tears in Steve’s eyes and he’s just freaking out and doesn’t know what else to say. That is until he starts apologizing. 

“Oh, god, Bucky, I’m sorry,” he says, cradling Bucky in his arms. “I didn’t mean… I’m so sorry, it was an accident.” 

They stay like that for several minutes until Steve scoops him off the floor and helps him inside, closing the with his foot behind them. Steve helps Bucky to the bed. He tells him to sit tight. 

The room is lamp lit. Steve hasn’t bothered turning any of the other lights on and Bucky wonders if that’s because of the champagne he and his team have probably indulged in tonight. It smells of it in here. Probably Steve’s uniform still somewhere. His MVP trophy is on the dresser. Bucky’s eyes fall from it the second Steve returns with a washcloth and fills it with ice. 

“Here.” He sits next to Bucky. Close. Presses the ice to his hand. “Is that okay?”

Bucky nods. “Yeah. It… um…”

“Oh, Bucky, I’m sorry.” He wraps his arms around him again. “I swear to god, I didn’t mean to do it.” 

“I know,” Bucky whispers. “I didn’t think this was some type of sabotage or anything.” 

“Should I… do you want me to get your team doctor?”

“What?” Bucky almost laughs. “No, Steve.” It hurts, but he manages to move his fingers. “I’ll be okay.” Steve’s voice is still wet. His eyes are thick with tears, but they don’t fall. Bucky touches his cheek. “I’ll be okay, Steve.” 

Steve continues to maneuver the ice around Bucky’s hand. He makes Bucky flex his fingers and cleans off the bit of blood from the small gash that the door caused. There’s a glass of water, which Steve makes him drink all of, and two aspirins that, of course, he would have handy. Steve bandages it up as well as he can. Which, given that he’s no doctor, is pretty damn good. As a catcher, Bucky’s had to have his hand wrapped many times. 

When he’s finished though, Steve shocks the hell out of him, by kissing his knuckles and then gently tapping the top of his hand. 

“Better?”

“Mm.” Bucky moves his hand around. “I think… I’ll live. That’s some arm you got there, Rogers. Must’ve had some pretty good coach when you were little, huh?”

Lips twisted, Steve gives him something of a dirty look. Amused though. The latter emotion plays along the corners of that little smile of his even if he tries to hide it. He rests his brow on Bucky's shoulder. Bucky cups the back of his head. He kind of likes Steve this way. All cute and cuddly. Even if it's just out of guilt because he hurt his hand. Bucky's selfish enough to take what he can get.

“What the hell’re you doin’ here anyway, Barnes?” 

“I came cause… well.” Bucky clears his throat. “First of all, congratulations. You did good tonight.” Bucky flicks his eyes down at him. “Don’t get used to it.” Steve’s eyebrows lift, a challenge in them. “And I thought… maybe we could talk. Y’know. They way we didn’t. Probably when we should’ve.” 

“Bucky…” Steve breathes. “Don’t…”

“No, look.” Bucky shifts so that they’re facing each other. “I don’t know what happened back then. I freaked out, that much I know. But you, every time I tried to talk to you, you just… wanted nothing to do with me.”

They’d kissed. For one, perfect moment, everything in the world fell into place. The stars aligned. Their bodies were weightless. Nothing else mattered. 

Yes, Bucky’ll admit that he panicked, terrified that perfection together would ruin everything that they’d already built together. But after that fear came the realization that he’d rather chance that than never risk anything at all. 

Steve, on the other hand, wouldn’t have any of it. He just went on pretending that nothing happened at all. Pretending that nothing happened at all just made things awkward and uncomfortable all the way up until the day they parted ways for college. 

Promise or no promise that nothing would ever come between them, it had. Bucky, as Steve pointed out, used that against them during their years facing off as their careers have been getting started. 

“Did you hate me, Steve?” 

Eyes falling closed, Steve sighs and shakes his head. “I thought you hated me, Bucky.” 

Bucky touches Steve’s chin. Turns his face so that they’re looking at one another again. This time, a tear does fall from Steve’s eye. 

“How could I ever hate you?” he asks. “You’ve only ever struck me out once.” 

Steve snorts and pulls away, but before he can, Bucky takes hold of his face and plants the kiss he’s wanted to ever since that day when they were kids. He only does it for a moment. Wants to give Steve the chance to react in any way he feels appropriate. 

Which, at first, is to touch his lips as though shocked that Bucky’s mouth was just against them. 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky whispers. “I should’ve… asked. Or talked more. Or… something. I just--”

He can’t say anything else. Steve grabs the back of his hair and shoves his tongue down his mouth so hard that it hurts. Claiming. Owning. Bucky can only whimper in response as Steve climbs over him. 

“I want you,” Steve mumbles into his kisses. “I’ve wanted you for so long…”

“Steve,” Bucky groans. “You taste like champagne. Are you drunk?”

“Mm-mm.” He pauses to think on that. “A little. Not enough to not know that I want this. Bucky, please.” 

Bucky grins and lets himself fall back onto the bed. He nods. Undoes the first few buttons of his shirt to let Steve suck on his neck. 

“Holy _shit_ , Stevie,” he murmurs as he pulls mark after mark onto his skin. “You’ve got a mouth like a fuckin’ Hoover.” 

Chuckling, Steve pulls Bucky’s tie away from his collar and lets it slip to the floor. 

“I should use that, y’know,” he says into Bucky’s ear, nibbling on his earlobe. “Show you what I’m made of.” 

That’s enough to make Bucky instantly jealous. Just how many people has Steve been with? Not that he’s one to talk. He’s pretty sure his so-called _virtue_ waved bye-bye to him long ago. But then, that’s been made no secret. So far as Bucky knows, he’s only heard of Steve and his long term girlfriend, Peggy, in college. Since then, she’s gotten married and Steve, well... what the hell has Steve been doing? 

“Use it?” Bucky asks. “Use it for what?”

Steve moves up so that he’s looking directly at Bucky’s face. Eyebrows lifted. Very pointed expression on his face. It then clicks. 

“Steve Rogers!” Bucky chuckles. “You _dawg_.” 

A grin. Then, “I know what I like.”

“Get the hell outta here, you don’t do that kinda shit.” 

Those eyebrows go up even more. Almost as if he’s _daring_ Bucky to keep testing him. 

“Oh, you don’t think so?” he asks. “You think I’m just a pretty face?” 

Hm. Interesting. Maybe out on the diamond Bucky knows exactly how to get into Steve’s head, but right here, right now, this is most intriguing. 

“I… I’m not… I mean…” Bucky can’t think straight. “I don’t know?”

“You don’t _know_?” Steve shakes his head. “You don’t even know if I have a pretty face?”

A gasp catches in Bucky’s throat. “What--what’s happening?”

A smirk curls the corner of Steve’s mouth. He leans down and catches Bucky’s mouth. Steals the breath right out of him. Kisses Bucky enough that when he pulls away, Bucky follows in an attempt to keep kissing only Steve slips his fingers over his lips. 

“Put your hands up on the pillow,” Steve says, softly. Almost an order, and Bucky suddenly finds himself willing to do anything Steve asks of him. “Don’t move.” 

Steve leans down to fetch that tie again. At first, Bucky thinks he’s going to tie his wrists together, but instead, Steve uses it to gag him. Once again, he reminds him not to move and then slowly removes his pants. 

It occurs to Bucky then that Steve has completely undressed him while he remains fully clothed. There’s something amazingly taboo about the entire situation. Especially when Steve’s tongue starts crawling across Bucky’s skin.

“You want me, Bucky?” Steve drawls. “You want me to make you feel good all over?”

Bucky, panting through the tie, nods. Only that does no good since Steve’s still too busy twirling his tongue down by his belly button and can’t possibly see that. 

“Hm?” Steve chuckles. “I can’t hear you.” 

Whining, Bucky takes a tighter grip of the tie between his teeth and manages to get out a very muffled, _yes_ , and adds a _please_ for good measure.

Eyes flicking up to meet his, Steve gives him a shit eating grin. Almost proud and _wow_ if that doesn’t shoot right through Bucky’s belly. He’s not sure where the hell that’s come from, but it’s there and he feels it and he wants _more_ of it. 

Bucky trembles beneath Steve’s body. Above him, Steve smiles softly and cups his cheek. Trails fingers along the knuckles of the hand he accidentally slammed in the door.

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs. “I’ll take care of you, Bucky.”

In that, Bucky is absolutely sure. Even with all the history between them, Steve would never let Bucky drown. He’d dive into the deepest, murkiest waters just to pull Bucky out of them. That’s just who Steve Rogers is. Bucky, abruptly overcome with so much emotion, feels the need to cry. He hopes Steve knows it’s always been the same for him. 

Another smile touches Steve’s lips. He leans in and kisses Bucky’s eyes. Sweet and tender. Maybe he does know. 

“Do you trust me?”

Bucky grins around the tie and nods. 

“Thank you,” Steve whispers. He slips between Bucky’s knees. “Try to hold still.” 

Steve then applies his mouth to Bucky’s rock hard erection. If Bucky thought the way he sucked on his neck was amazing, it’s nothing compared to the way he sucks him off now. Bucky knows Steve wants him to hold still and he wants so badly to listen to him, but it’s nearly impossible not to chase the sensation. 

The way Steve is so gentle with his mouth and yet moves all the way down to Bucky’s belly. It’s maddeningly teasing while encompassing all of him at the same time. Really, the whole thing is very confusing. 

Steve’s mouth over his length is like nothing Bucky’s ever experienced before. He wants this to both never end and get him over the edge as quickly as possibly at the same time. At the moment, Steve doesn’t seem to keen on getting him to come anytime soon. He’d much rather swirl his tongue up his shaft and over his head and then back down again. 

All Bucky can do is lay there and take it. He can’t even shout to the highest heavens like he wants to. Not with the tie shoved in his mouth. He even forgets that Steve’s told him not to move and threads his own fingers through his hair. He just can’t help it. 

“You know…” Steve lifts away and plops next to him, cheek resting in his palm. “A player should always know his position on the field. Isn’t that what you used to tell me when you hit balls at me when the sun was going down?”

Not quite sure what he means by that -- other than the mention of the past, because, yes, Bucky did do that to Steve -- Bucky just stares up at him. When he realizes what he’s done, that his hands are no longer where Steve’s told him to keep them, his eyes go wide and he scrambles to throw them back up on the pillow. He whimpers around the tie as Steve takes to trailing fingers up and down Bucky’s inner thighs. 

Steve leans in and, even with the tie still in place, kisses him again. Lips still against Bucky’s he eases the tie away. This time, when he lifts away, Bucky can see that adorable mischievous sparkle in Steve’s eyes. 

“I’m not so sure if I should let you come, Bucky,” he taunts. “Not until I _really_ know you didn’t _let_ me strike you out.”

Eyes going wide, Bucky quickly shakes his head. Tries desperately to articulate that _no_. No, of course not. He’d never, not in a million years just _let_ Steve strike him out. But it’s incredibly hard to do that when Steve starts playing with his dick again. 

“Mm.” Bucky shakes his head. “I… I- I.” He takes in a deep breath. “I wouldn’t do that. Not to me. Not to _you_.”

Steve laughs. Hearty and wholehearted. One of Bucky’s favorite sounds in the whole world. 

“But not your team?”

Bucky scoffs. “Most of my teammates are assholes. Fuck ‘em. I wouldn’t do it to _me_ or to _yo-- oh_ , right there, _please_ , Steve…” 

This time, Steve doesn’t stop. He just takes a good grip on Bucky again and starts pumping again. The very second Bucky goes to shout, Steve captures his mouth. He almost yanks his head off, shoving his mouth into Bucky’s so hard that it hurts. An explosion that blasts away the dull, gray years between now and the one fiery moment that they had together. 

They’ve always belonged to each other. Bucky sees that now, as he eases back to this place of reality. Where Steve struck him out on this night to win it for his team yet Bucky hardly feels like he’s struck out at all. He just trembles within Steve’s arms. 

“Stevie boy,” Bucky whispers. “You can strike me out anytime you want to.” 

Steve kisses the top of his head and hoists him on top of his lap. The zipper of his pants is undone. Bucky has every intention of returning the favor. Just a peek of the cock hidden within the confines of his boxers has Bucky drooling already. 

“Mm.” Steve grins. “I hope that’s not a promise.”

Bucky snickers. “Just as long as you try.”

“I’ll always try.” Steve licks his lips. “You still gonna do that little shimmy when you step up to the plate?”

A grin twitches at the corners of Bucky’s mouth. “You like that?”

Steve blushes. “I might.” 

“Everytime then, babe.” Bucky presses another kiss to Steve’s mouth. Reaches into Steve’s pants now and loves that little gasp he makes when his hand touches him. “But not for them, Steve. Just for you.”

~~~

They tried to keep it a secret at first. Maybe it would’ve lasted longer had they been signed to teams in separate leagues. Since they’re both in the American League, it’s been tougher hiding things. 

Once their teammates and coaches accepted that neither Steve nor Bucky were holding back when facing each other on the diamond, they didn’t seem to have a problem with the fact that they were dating. Some fans have a problem with it. Can’t help dealing with idiots. Many fans seem to find it cute and adorable. They get a lot of cheers and excitement whenever they face off. 

None of it stops Steve from firing his best pitches whenever Bucky’s up at the plate. The little fucker still knows how to get into his head. Whenever he gets up to the plate, he does that little shimmy in the dirt. Well, at least now, even with all the fans cheering, Steve knows it’s meant for him and him alone. 

Whenever Steve _does_ strike Bucky out, Steve shoots finger guns at him. When Bucky gets a hit off of him, Bucky’ll shoot him a wink from whatever base he makes it to. That’s just their little way of letting each other know. No backing down. 

If Bucky happens to throw a fit about getting struck out -- because sometimes Bucky’s not the best of sports -- and slams his bat down into the plate or flings it back into the dugout, Steve does something about it. _Later_. 

They’ve been on talk shows together. Reporters after the games. Most of them usually want to know the same thing. 

“How does it feel?” they ask. “Having to play against each other?”

Bucky usually shrugs. “I’ve been teaching ‘im how to play since we were kids.” 

“I think it motivates us,” Steve answers after giving Bucky the stink eye. “We both want to win. We push each other to do our best.”

“Yeah.” Bucky sometimes likes to pinch Steve’s ass when they’ve both in their uniforms. “That’s the easy way to put it.” 

He flashes that pretty smile at Steve. The one that makes Steve -- and probably most of his fans and even the people who hate him because he’s just _so freaking good_ at his job -- go weak at the knees. If they’re in front of the cameras it takes all of Steve’s willpower not to grab him by the cheeks and plant a kiss. 

Sure, they might play for two of the biggest rivals in baseball history, and for two Brooklyn boys, that’s saying something. Some people call them traitors. Some people call them things much worse than that. Some people call them enemies to lovers, whatever that means. 

All Steve cares about is that he’s got his Bucky back. 

Whether he’s right next to him or sixty feet across from him, rival or not, America’s favorite pastime wouldn’t be nearly as good for Steve Rogers without Bucky Barnes there with him. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to check me out on tumblr for more stucky and marvel fun at [thebestpersonherelovesbucky](http://thebestpersonherelovesbucky.tumblr.com/)


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